Completion That Overwhemling Sense of Reality
by Padfootwolfboy
Summary: Remus from October 1981 to the end of PoA


**Title:** Completion (That Overpowering Sense of Reality)  
**Paring:** Remus/Sirius  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Genre:** Drama  
**Warning(s):** Character death, I suppose  
**Spoilers:** PoA  
**Summary:** Remus—from October 1981 to the end of PoA  
**Notes: **2,268 words. Actually beta'd. Done so by the lovely Gypsy Lupin-Black, who has a huge bucket of Remus chocolate and _thankyouverymuch_'s handed her way. Feedback is my drug.

At first he isn't quite sure how to react. The deaths of Lily and James come as an expected shock, a punch in the stomach that's been speeding towards him for an eternity. Before they died, he would usually awake from nightmares in a cold sweat with the absolute knowledge they had been killed while he slept. He would sit or pace, shower, and then when no letter from Dumbledore or Sirius or Peter came, return to bed. But always he felt crushed by the overpowering reality of his dreams.

It makes him laugh that it is two days later and in sunlight when he read the headline that Sirius Black is not just responsible for Lily and James, but for Peter as well, and to be sent to Azkaban without trial. The night was always what he feared, that he would wake up with two friends gone.

He never imagined that he would sit down to lunch and stand five minutes later crying and laughing and all alone.

* * *

Remus handles the news of Sirius' betrayal quite blandly to the outside observer. He doesn't scream or cry or plead and ask why—_why, why, WHY—_like everyone thinks he should. Like Remus thinks he should. He sips his tea politely and offers Dumbledore week-old biscuits, favorites of James and Harry, when he comes to visit.

He looks at the old photographs from school, at the mementos from twelve years of friendship and mauraudership, and tries to puzzle out how a boy like Sirius could be the famed Death Eater he became. How a boy that he loved and kissed and _trusted _could even accomplish such a feat of betrayal. He goes about it like an Arithmancy problem but the numbers never add up to any magical conclusion.

So he puts them back and goes about the days and weeks that life brings.

* * *

Days confuse Remus. They seem too long when he wakes and too short when he goes to sleep. There is never enough time to do anything he wants to do and never anything to do with the time he has.

Peacetime is boring after years of war, but he supposes he should prefer it that way.

* * *

Dumbledore visits twice a week at first, then once a week, then only sporadically throughout the month. He brings Remus news of Harry, of sympathy from the staff, and ideas for new curriculum. Remus listens attentively but doesn't add much to the conversation then a few well-placed "hmms".

The use of the Shack is offered again for his change and Remus accepts gladly, mostly because he doesn't have anywhere else to go. He quickly changes the topic to Harry again and stirs his tea absently as Dumbledore again recounts the fact that Harry is living with Lily's sister who has a son of the same age.

* * *

Sometimes Remus invents little child stories of what Harry's life is like at his aunt's house. They are short and relatively pointless. When Harry cries, when he needs to be changed, what bedtime stories are read to him, what his room looks like.

He tries to leave out the parts about flying motorcycles and lopsided glasses.

* * *

After the full moon one month he awakes from a strange dream with a strange feeling. He is covered is a cool sweat, which isn't all that unusual for the change, but this time it is accompanied by that overpowering feeling his nightmares of Lily and James before they died used to leave him with. That disparaging sense of reality.

He tries to remember the dream and fails, but Remus is fairly certain that a large black dog, a stag, and a rat were the main characters.

When he Apparates home he finds that he has three thin parallel pink scratches down his cheek. He develops a habit of rubbing his fingers against them, tracing the particular unevenness of his skin.

It's only until his hand morphs into Sirius' that he stops.

* * *

The days fade into weeks, which fade into months, which fade into years and it's only until Dumbledore comes over one day that Remus realizes it has been three years since he last saw the man.

Dumbledore is civility and presence as he invades Remus' privacy and Remus accepts him with his usual grace. They sit down for tea and biscuits, the same brand but different tin.

He tells Remus that Harry is six to which Remus responds with an amazed "hmph." He asks what he has been doing with his time.

"I've been working, odd jobs, the usual, and going to the Muggle cinema a lot," Remus says as he refills his teacup.

"But you're doing all right?"

"As best as can be expected," Remus replies, referring to his condition and nothing else. But Dumbledore, with all his infinite wisdom, takes it the wrong way.

"How are you feeling, Remus?" he asks after a pause. "Anger and grief are perfectly understandable. Even after all this time."

"I'm not angry," Remus says. "I'm just tired. I don't feel anything." He looks Dumbledore in the eye but quickly breaks contact when the Headmaster's gaze becomes too perceptive.

He hates when people look for things that aren't there.

* * *

As he lies in bed that night, he makes up new stories for Harry, living life the Muggle way. He imagines him on his first day of school, learning to tie his shoes, ponders whether he wears glasses or not. Whether he gets teased for them or for his hair.

He thinks about him learning to ride a bike but at the first sound of a motorcycle engine gunning, he rolls over. He goes to sleep.

* * *

Remus hasn't thought about sex for a while. Hasn't needed it. Has gone on fine without, just like he goes on fine with his best friends dead or worse. It's strange to him now that he wakes after the full moon and has the tell tale physical reaction. He was dreaming again, he was sure, but like always he can't remember what about.

Contemplating things like that don't make the problem go away so he decides to do something about it before it becomes another chronic condition he must deal with.

Since he has the day off work—is probably going to be fired soon anyways—he finds a bar in the evening. He hides the cuts and scars with glamours.

At the bar he finds a tall, dark haired Muggle with small breasts. She's drunk and a few years younger, while he's thirty, a werewolf, and perfectly sober, but he picks her up anyways. He thinks he should feel guilty but doesn't.

When he cums inside her mouth, it's Sirius' face he sees. He thinks he should feel guilty about that but doesn't.

* * *

When the thirty-first of July rolls around, he wishes Harry a happy birthday and invents a story about him getting his letter.

* * *

Two years later he hears from Dumbledore again, coupled with the information that Sirius Black, the only man in history to have ever done so, escaped from Azkaban. He is offered a teaching job at Hogwarts, by Dumbledore's insistent request.

Remus is reluctant at first, hesitant. He has never taught before and is not sure how. And he's a werewolf. It was dangerous while he was at school; it is still dangerous. Dumbledore is asking him to put more students' lives at risk. It's not a risk he feels comfortable taking.

Besides, did Dumbledore realize the irony of asking a dark creature to teach Defense?

Dumbledore assures him that he understands the irony, that the Shack is always there and that Professor Snape will make the Wolfsbane potion for him. He has taken precautions for the risks. Remus will get to see Harry. Remus can protect Harry from Sirius.

For the first time in a long time, Remus feels anger, anger towards Dumbledore for using that to get him to agree. But he does agree, nevertheless, and he does get to see Harry.

Who yes, wears glasses and has James' hair, but doesn't seem to be teased for either.

* * *

Teaching is good for Remus, he thinks. It focuses him, if it doesn't relax him. It makes the world seem crisper, sharper, black and white like the words of a textbook. There are children laughing in the halls. Remus hasn't heard a teenager laugh since before he was one. The war and time sucked those childhood memories from his mind.

He likes the material, remembers it from his days as a student, and enjoys the gentle balance and trust that lies between a teacher and student.

Harry, especially, makes the experience worthwhile. To see the lives of James and Lily culminate to this perfect denouement is a miracle. It is all the more obvious when he sees Harry around his friends.

* * *

The boy himself is a walking miracle. His resilience, his bravery—Remus has a pride and love for him that he never saw himself capable of owning. He isn't the fatherly type, or even the strange uncle. That role was reserved for Sirius, or perhaps even Peter. It troubles him to see Harry weighed down by a battle that never should have been his, that the past generation should have protected him from. He feels it a failure on his part and so does anything he can for Harry without betraying his job as teacher.

That's all he is to Harry. That's all he can be. It wasn't meant for him to be anything more.

When Harry speaks of hearing his mother's screaming, he comes as close as he'll ever come to hating Sirius Black. But the feeling is listless, shallow. In that too he is a failure.

* * *

With the Wolfsbane, his mind is quieted. He can feel the transformation all the more acutely, but he has the sense to hush his screams and instead lets the pain run through him like the moon's reflection over water.

Curled up on his bedroom floor, he dreams and he remembers.

He is chasing Sirius, wants to kill him, damage him. But with every step he takes, Sirius moves further away. When Sirius takes a step towards him, he feels his feet fumbling backwards. There lies an expanse between them. No matter how hard he tries it cannot be breached. Sirius' eyes are hollow and sad.

Remus wakes for the change at dawn. He finds himself wishing that instead of harming Sirius he could only have touched his face one last time.

The idea is sober and rough. His teeth clench.

* * *

Seeing Sirius again is a punch to the stomach he could never prepare himself to defend. Hearing of Sirius innocence, and more importantly _believing_ him, is a blow so large he feels like his head will spin for the rest of his life. Like an earthquake: the aftershock can be more damaging then the actual event.

Touching Sirius, hugging Sirius, smelling him. It makes his bones brittle. It feels like he's gone through a memory wipe, like he's sixteen again, like time has no past and no future and there's no one in the universe but him and this man, right here, in his arms.

He can feel Sirius' sharp nails digging through the fiber of his robes. His cheek rubs against the bristled stubble of Sirius' and stray dog hair invade his nostrils. And _oh gods_, he thinks, _oh gods. This is it. Everything's complete now._ Somewhere inside him a generator starts, sputters to life and Remus can hear the distant sound of a motorcycle. Suddenly he again understands the feeling of laughing and crying at the same time. That overwhelming sense of reality.

Then the world collapses again. The moon rises. Remus' bones crunch and when he tries to yell _No!_ only a howl is released.

* * *

Remus awakes alone and naked in the woods. He has scratches from branches, cuts from claws. His nose feels like it got one too many good chomps from Padfoot. The taste of blood is in his mouth. Not human, fortunately.

It is morning, daylight, and the sun is too bright for his tired eyes.

The generator—_his heart then?—_is still pumping, churning and a wave of emotion descends upon him. Anger and grief and a deep, dark sorrow for all he has lost, all Harry has lost, all Sirius has lost wells in his heart and suddenly he isn't sure what to do.

Remus does the only thing left to him. He cries.

He cries like he hasn't cried since he was six years old and his father told him that he couldn't play with the neighborhood children anymore.

The deep, heaving sort of crying. The sort that no one is allowed to see. The sort that Remus doesn't even want to see. But it's there and he is and he can't stop the tears once they've started falling. He presses his face to the ground and lets the dirt absorb the moisture.

Tears and mud have dried on his cheeks. His eyes are swollen and red. His limbs feel too heavy to move. Remus stands and starts his way to the castle.

He's not sure why he feels more betrayed now then he did when he first learned of the events of Halloween 1981.


End file.
